The Detective's Daughter
by NeoMulder
Summary: How would life be different for the Detective and Dr. Watson if Sherlock found out he had a daughter who was like him?
1. Chapter 1

Today, I was wearing dark, blue jeans, a black tanktop, a pair of black and white converse, and a black jacket that resembled leather. My long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail with some hair left down to frame my face. Right now I was on my way to the press conference where the Detective Inspector and Detective Seargent were going to be speaking. I idly wondered how wrong their assumptions were going to be this time.  
When I entered the room the first thing I noticed were all the reporters and I thought about dismissing them, but that could prove fatal. It was very unlikely that any of them were about to stand up and try to kill someone, but it was better to be safe than sorry. So I let my eyes wash over the room and it's inhabitants.  
All of the reporters were dressed in professional looking clothes and either had a notepad and pencil or a camera of some sort. Most of the people who were actually taking pictures were in the back, but there was one or two in the front snapping pictures. That was a bit rude in my opinion. The room was mostly painted in hues of gray with white that blended with the glass panes of the windows and the wall that held the door that I had just walked through. It was rather boring in all. Nothing stood out in the crowd. The woman in the front row with the white collar was cheating on her husband with one of the cameramen in the back. The one on the right.  
He was wearing a brown jacket that was on the bulky side and he was probably one of the only people who hadn't spent an hour on their looks before coming to this conference. His hair was short and was almost the exact shade of his jacket, the only thing that wasn't in brownish colors were the silver headphones that were on his head. Obviously he wasn't terribly interested in getting answers, I thought as I took a seat in the back so as not to draw too much unwanted attention to myself.  
The Detective Inspector looked uncomfortable as his colleague, the Detective Seargent, addressed the gathered reporters. The two of them were sitting at a table at the front of the room that was on a platform so they were slightly above the press.  
The Detective Inspector was wearing a white button down shirt with a black dress coat over it. I couldn't see the shade of his pants, but it was most likely the same as his coat. The top button of his shirt was unbuttoned and there was a large gold watch on his left wrist with a brown leather strap.  
The Detective Seargent was wearing a loose light blue top that was more on the casual side than professional and she also wore a watch on her left wrist, though it was silver. Her watch was smaller than the Inspector's and it was rectangularly shaped while his was round, but those were really the only differences.  
"The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide." The Detective Seargent said loudly. I supressed a laugh at the outrageous idea as I listened to the rest of what the Seargent had to say. "We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now."  
Linked suicides? That was even more preposterous than the idea that the deaths of the three people were suicides. This was why I had chosen to step in. These people needed my help and it would give me something to do. After I went to the morgue where the bodies were and somehow got a look at them and I had to get aquainted with the idiots on the police force and the ones who would be even slightly helpful to me. While I thought through these things, I had been listening to the Inspector's answers to the reporters questions and filing through the information. Trashing what was unimportant and saving the important bits of information.  
"Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?" The brunette in the front inquired. I sat back in my seat as I waited to hear how the Inspector would answer this question.  
"Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ..." The Inspector replied, but was soon interrupted.  
"But you can't have serial suicides." The blonde in the third row spoke up.  
"Well, apparantly you can." The Inspector replied. What an idiot, I thought with a roll of my eyes. I stretched my legs out in front of me and crossed my ankles, resigning myself to listen to the rest of this.  
"These three people: there's nothing that links them?" Another reporter questioned. It was the one who was unfaithful.  
"There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one." The Inspector informed the press. A moment later my phone vibrated in my pocket, whilst everyone else's phones trilled a text alert.  
I sighed and reached into my pocket to retrieve it, deciding whatever it was would be much more interesting then listening to these people spout nonsense. The text I recieved read: Wrong!  
Someone knows what they're talking about, I thought as I set my phone onto my lap. I saw that the Dective Seargent had also looked at her phone.  
"If you've all got texts, please ignore them." She ordered. So she knows whoever sent the text and she doesn't care for the individual. If she didn't know this person she would most likely suspect it was the killer.  
I stifled a yawn as I stood up and exited the room whilst typing on my phone, trying to track the phone this text had been sent from. A few people glanced at me as I walked through the door and out of the building. Having already memorized the path I took to get in, I managed to navigate the halls without bumping into anything with ease. I didn't have to worry about too many people since most were at the conference and the path I took was mostly deserted.  
A short while after I exited the building I had already narrowed the text to having come from Baker Street, Ravin Avenue, or Denven Road. Whoever had sent the text, officially had my attention. They obviously knew what they were doing, considering the text was near impossible to trace. And even then the best I could do was find a general location of where it came from.  
I sighed. It would be pointless to try to find the person who had sent it. So, dead end...almost.  
I let a smile slip onto my face as I remembered that the Detective Seargent seemed to know the person who had sent this text, so perhaps she could help me. It was a start. Next stop St Bartholomew's Hospital morgue. I just had to figure out how to get there.  
I quickly put a search in for directions to the morgue, setting off when they came. If I ran I could be there by noon.

When I arrived at the hospital I quietly slipped in, waiting till the receptionist had her back turned before heading down the hallway where the morgue would most likely be. Looking at dead bodies wasn't very fun, but I was used to it. Now all I had to do was find which ones were the correct bodies, though I didn't think that would be much of a challenge since they were listed on the clipboard that was handily just lying on the table. I couldn't, however, get after anyone for this because it's not everyday that someone breaks into the morgue.  
Okay, so number 12, 15, and 21 are the ones with Beth Davenport, James Phillimore, and Sir Jefferey Patterson. I quietly walked down the hall of mortuary cold chambers until I got to number 12. I unlatched the door and pulled the slab partially out, wincing at the slight clanging noise.  
Beth Davenport had shoulder length blonde hair, and pale skin. Her face was creased with wrinkles, but she couldn't have been more than forty. No outer evidence that she was murdered and it would definitely be noticed if I did an autopsy. So onto the next chamber, I thought as I slid Beth's body back into it's cold chamber and latched the door before walking to number 15.  
James Phillimore was at the most eighteen I saw when I slid his body out after unlatching the door. Short dirty blonde hair, crooked jaw, and no evidence. I slid him back into his place, latching the door before turning to leave. The last body was most definitely a dead end as well. Whoever killed these people did it well. And since it was made to look like suicide there was no chance of getting an autopsy performed and even if they did it would be very difficult for me to get a close enough look at what was found, since the doctor assigned to perform the autopsy would most likely be incompetent.  
"Hey!" Someone yelled from behind me. I froze and slowly turned around. The man had a white coat on and he had short brown hair, green eyes, a slight stubble, and he was heading towards me with a very confused expression. "What are you doing down here?"  
I was silent for a moment as I slipped into the role of a frightened teenager in about a second. "I'm sorry. I was looking for the bathroom and I got turned around. Is this considered trespassing? I'm not gonna go to jail, am I?" I wrung my hands together. "'Cause I have finals coming up and that would just mess up everything. Oh, my gosh my mom's gonna be so upset at me. Please don't press charges, sir. I am so, so, so, so -"  
"It's fine. I won't tell anyone, but you have to get out of here. Come on, I'll show you to the ladies room." The man interrupts.  
I let a relieved smile spread across my face. "Thank you."  
The man motioned for me to come with him and I followed him out of the morgue and to the restrooms where he left me after I went in. I let my act drop and exited the room when I was sure that I could get through unnoticed. As I was walking I noticed a sign that read: Bart's Lab. This sounded interesting.  
I peered in through the window on the door and saw three men talking. In the lab there were several instruments I recognized and quickly dismissed, there were some containers against the back wall along with some papers that were pinned to the walls.  
One of the men looked to be in his late- twenties or thirties, with dark, brown, slightly curly and wavy hair, blue eyes, and a knowledgable gaze. He was wearing a black dress coat over a white button up dress shirt. His pants matched his jacket and he was wearing black shiny dress shoes. He was squeezing something from a pipette into a petri dish.  
The second man I turned my gaze to was 20 pounds overweight, had an ugly brown jacket on to match his pants over a yellowish button up with a pair of brown dress shoes and a yellow, green and red striped tie. He was wearing a pair of glasses on his face that were rectangular and he had short brown hair that just barely reached his hairline. His eyes were also brown. He seemed boring so I turned to the next man.  
The last man had a military grade haircut, brown eyes that weren't nearly as plain as his friend's were, and his posture also marked him as military. His lips were small and thin, matching his eyebrows, his weight was healthy, and he was using a cane that he most likely didn't need. He was wearing a gray, white, and black plaid button-up, dark blue jeans, and a blue-black jacket that gave him a casual yet not sloppy look. His shoes were pretty normal. Afghanistan or Iraq? I thought. I quieted my breathing so I could hear their conversation better. He's an army doctor.  
"Well, bit different from my day." The military man said, looking around at all the equipment.  
I filed this away into my theory about the man as his friend chuckled before speaking. "You've no idea!"  
I tilted my head to the side careful to stay out of their sight as the taller man near the back of the room spoke as he sat down. "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."  
Mike looked to the taller man and questioned, "And what's wrong with the landline?"  
"I prefer to text." The other man replied. I shifted my position so I was casually leaning against the wall, since people were giving me weird looks.  
"Sorry. It's in my coat." Mike answered.  
The man who had spoken first fished in his back pocket and pulled out his own phone. "Er, here. Use mine."  
So, he's kind as well. That was rare in my experience. I glanced at his phone and quickly added to my theory. Has a brother named Harry, that is a drinker and is worried about him. The military doctor was invalidated from Afghanistan or Iraq.  
"Oh. Thank you." The taller man responded as he stood, glancing briefly at Mike before walking over to the other unknown man.  
"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike introduced, gesturing to the man with the psychosomatic limp.  
The unknown man reached Jhon and took the phone from him, turning partially away from him before flipping open the keyboard and starting to type. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"  
I stopped breathing for a moment as I listened closer. Could he be like me?  
Jhon frowned as Mike smiled knowingly from his spot near the two men. So he was usually like this, I thought, which was obvious by Mike's reaction. Jhon looked at the unknown man as he continued to type. "Sorry?"  
"Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?" The man requested, briefly looking up at Jhon before looking back to the phone.  
Jhon heasitated and looked to Mike, confused, but Mike just smiled smugly. "Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know...?"  
I grimaced as a woman came up to the room, holding a mug of coffee. She had bright red hair that was pulled back into a ponytail and she was wearing a white coat over a plaid dressy style dress that she paired with black flats. Her lips were a little small and her eyes were a greenish brown.  
"I'm sorry who are you?" She asked.  
"Who are you?" I inquired, slightly agitated that she had come up and interrupted what I was doing.  
"I'm Molly. Are you spying on them?" Her tone became enraged. Obviously she felt very strongly about this.  
"Am I?" I asked, deciding to see how long it would take to annoy her.  
"Come on." She groaned, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the room, even as I protested.  
The unknown man looked up as Molly came into the room, pulling me behind her. "Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." The man shut down Jhon's phone and handed it back to him as Molly brought me and the mug over to him. He looked closely at her as he took the coffee. "What happened to the lipstick?"  
Molly smiled awkwardly at him and I felt the urge to roll my eyes. "It wasn't working for me."  
"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now." He responded. I completely agreed. Some make-up could make a large improvement for her, not that she was particularly ugly, just an annoyance at the moment. The man turned and went back to his station, taking a sip of the coffee and grimacing at the taste.  
"...Okay." Molly said softly before turning to me. "Now do you have something you want tell them."  
I tilted my head and pretended to think for a moment before looking at Molly. "Do I?"  
"Fine. I'll tell them." Molly said exasperated, turning back to the three men. "This little girl was spying on you. Thought you should knoiw."  
I supressed a glare at the little girl comment and watched as Molly turned and headed for the door. "Was I?"  
"Were you?" Jhon questioned, looking at me.  
I tilted my head to the side. "What do you think...sir?" I added the last word to see if the interesting one would pick up on it. The others most likely wouldn't. He seemed to know I was addressing him with the last word.  
"I think your game's going to get annoying soon." Jhon answered. I looked over at him and sighed, straightening my act up.  
"Fine, I'll stop. And I was eavesdropping, not spying. Spying implies that I was trying to gain something from you. Eavesdropping is similar although it's usually done out of curiosity." I replied. "Don't mind me." I walked around the one I had yet to hear the name of and I started fiddling around with all of the chemical instruments.  
"How do you feel about the violin?" The nameless man asked, obviously addressing Jhon.  
Jhon looked at Mike who was still smiling smugly, but soon realized that the man was speaking to him. "I'm sorry, what?"  
"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." While the man spoke he was typing on a laptop keyboard. When he was done typing he looked round at Jhon. "Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He threw an obviously false smile at Jhon who just stared at him blankly for a moment before looking to Mike.  
"Oh, you ... you told him about me?" Jhon asked his friend. I shook my head as I watched.  
"Not a word." Mike answered. Of course he didn't. Thought that was obvious. Since he knew about Afghanistan.  
Jhon turned to the unknown man again. "Then who said anything about flatmates?"  
The man I still did not know the name of picked up his greatcoat and put it on before speaking. "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."  
"How did you know about Afghanistan?" Jhon asked. I stopped messing with the equipment and looked up at him, disbelievingly. It was written all over him!  
The other man, however, ignored his question, wrapped his scarf around his neck, then picked up his mobile and checked it. "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." He walked over to Jhon and I got a sudden idea. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." Putting his phone in the inside pocket of his coat, he walked past Jhon and headed for the door.  
Jhon turned to look at him. "Is that it?"  
The man turned away from the door and strolled closer to Jhon again. "Is that what?"  
"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?" Jhon questioned. Sounded like a good idea. I wasn't sure if they would go for it, but I had to try, didn't I?  
"Problem?" The other man inquired.  
Jhon smiled in disbelief, looking to his friend for help, but Mike just kept smiling as he looked at the other man. Jhon turned to the younger man. "We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name."  
And he didn't know anything about me, either. I wasn't sure about the other man, but he probably knew something about me if he was as smart as I was.  
The other man looked closely at him for a moment before speaking. "I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid."  
Exactly like my theory, I thought just with some additions, that came from information I didn't have. I watched as Jhon looked down at his leg and cane and shuffled his feet awkwardly. The other man spoke again, smugly. "That's enough to be going on, don't you think?" He turned and walked to the door again, opening it and going through, but leaning back into the room. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street." He click-winked at Jhon before turning to Mike. "Afternoon."  
I headed for the door and followed Sherlock out as Mike raised a finger in farewell to his friend.  
"Sherlock?" I asked. He kept walking, but inclined his head to show he was listening. "Is there any chance I could stay with the two of you? I don't have anywhere to go beyond tonight and with our similarities, it probably wouldn't be as aggravating to live with you as it would be to live with some idiot. What do you say?"  
"You know where and when we'll be meeting, I don't see why not, though I have some questions about you." Sherlock responded.  
"I understand. And I have a few about you. I'll see you tomorrow." I replied before walking ahead of him and taking the elevator to the bottom floor and exiting the building. Hmm. Chances were good that he was the one who sent the text earlier at the conference, though I wasn't sure I could trust him just yet, but it would be nice to be around another genius for awhile. Even if it didn't pan out.  
I headed towards a clearly abandoned house that I had stashed my bag in and was planning to stay for the night. The house was a large white house that was supposed to appear cheerful, but I would never look at it that way with what had happened when I lived here. Robert was a monster and had partially helped shape who I was. I couldn't believe that he'd left only a month ago. Something else I couldn't believe, was the fact that I still had some of the wounds he gave me. I knew I wouldn't be able to stay beyond one night. I didn't have the willpower or restraint.


	2. Chapter 2

When I woke up it was still dark out and I quickly got to my feet, grabbing my bag and hurrying out the door. My hair flew out behind me as I ran and I didn't stop for breath until I was near Baker Street. I stopped and took a small drink from the water bottle I had in my bag.  
"Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive." I heard Jhon say as I rounded the corner on Baker Street. Him and Sherlock were standing in front of the adress they had sort of decided to meet.  
The address was right by Speedy's Sandwhich Bar and Cafe and the street was just an ordinary looking street. Jhon was wearing black jeans, a black jacket with a gray sweater beneath it. His shoes were light brown and he of course had his cane with him, not that he needed it.  
Sherlock was wearing the long coat from yesterday, along with a purple scarf. I could just barely see the white collar of the buttonup shirt beneath his scarf and around the edges of the coat he was wearing. He had black pants on and black shoes.  
"Oh, Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out." Sherlock explained.  
"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?"Jhon inquired. I tilted my head to the side as I quietly walked closer.  
"Oh no. I ensured it." Sherlock smiled at John as the front door was opened by an elder woman, who opened her arms to the younger man. She was wearing a dark purple dress with some light brown slipper/sandals.  
"Sherlock, hello." She said happily. I slowed a bit as I came to stand behind Jhon, exmining the front of the building. The walls were bright white and the door was green. There was a wrought iron gate next to it around a garden and the door had a silver/copper knocker on it.  
Sherlock turned and walked into her arms, hugging her briefly, then stepped back and presented John to her.  
"Mrs Hudson, Doctor John Watson." Sherlock introduced before looking to me. "And this is..."  
I shifted my gaze to Mrs. Hudson and held my hand out. "River."  
"Hello." Mrs. Hudson said, shaking my hand and greeting Jhon.  
"How do?" Jhon said to her before turning to Sherlock. "You never said anything about her rooming with us or about knowing her. Why?"  
I looked to Jhon. "Oh, we set it up after we left yesterday. Sorry, should've informed you. I won't be any trouble. I promise."  
Mrs. Hudson gestured Jhon inside. "Come in."  
"Thank you." Jhon said to Mrs. Hudson before speaking to me again. "What about your family?"  
I felt my heart skip a beat in fear at the mention of family and frowned. Why would that be one of the first things he brought up? Could I not get a break?  
"Shall we?" Sherlock inquired, motioning to the house. I turned and walked away from Jhon without answering.  
The men went inside with me trailing behind and Mrs Hudson closed the door. Sherlock trotted up the stairs to the first floor, then paused and waited for John to hobble upstairs. I followed behind Jhon, now examining the interior of the building as well as anything else that interested me. The wall was light brown and had a print of leaves and stems in front of the door that Sherlock stopped at. This door was the same green as the front door, as I expected.  
As John reached the top of the stairs, Sherlock opened the door ahead of him and walked in, revealing the living room of the flat. John followed him in and looked around the room and at all the possessions and boxes scattered around it.  
"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." Jhon said after a moment.  
I stood behind him and looked at the cluttered mess. There was open drawers that had a few boxes and books in it, a stack of books in the corner beside a cardboard box with more items in it. There were also a few loose papers about and a music stand set up with some sheet music on it. There was a large trunk on a brown leather couch next to a brown cushion that had a violin and a bow resting against it. In front of the couch on the coffee table was another box that had a United Kingdom pillow on top with some more books and papers beside it.  
There was a leather chair that matched the couch and a dresser full of books, and above the fireplace was a picture of an eagle with it's wings spread, beside that to the left was a human skull. And that was just a few of things in this room.  
"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." Sherlock said, breaking me from my thoughts as he looked around the flat happily. "So I went straight ahead and moved in."  
Jhon spoke simultaneously with Sherlock's last words. "Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out ... Oh." Jhon paused embarrassed as he realized what Sherlock said. "So this is all...?"  
I looked between the two with a curious expression, wondering how this would turn out though I felt a small flash of fear as I watched.  
"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." Sherlock said as he walked across the room and made a half-hearted attempt to tidy up a little, throwing a couple of folders into a box and then taking some unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he put them onto the mantelpiece and then stabbed a multi tool knife into them.  
John had noticed something else on the mantelpiece and lifted his cane to point at it. "That's a skull."  
"Friend of mine. When I say 'friend' ..." Sherlock trailed off as Mrs. Hudson came into the room and picked up a cup and saucer as Sherlock removed his coat and scarf. I tilted my head at him curiously. Even more similarities between us.  
"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms." Mrs, Hudson said and I looked at her in disbelief. Of course she thought that, I thought. She doesn't observe, like most people.  
"Of course we'll be needing two." Jhon said before turning to me. "Wait, where are you going to sleep?"  
"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here." Mrs. Hudson siad, confidentially dropping her voice to a whisper by the end of the sentence. "Mrs Turner next door's got married ones."  
John looked across to Sherlock, expecting him to confirm that he and John were not involved in that way but Sherlock appeared oblivious to what was being insinuated, to my amusement. Mrs Hudson walked across to the kitchen, then turned back and frowned at Sherlock. "Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made."  
As she went into the kitchen and started tidying up, John walked over to one of the two armchairs, plumped up a cushion on the chair and then dropped heavily down into it. He looked across to Sherlock who was still tidying up a little. I went over and sat on the floor near the door, setting my bag down beside me as I watched my two new flatmates.  
"I looked you up on the internet last night." Jhon said. I chuckled softly. Of course he did.  
Sherlock turned around to face him. "Anything interesting?"  
"Found your website, The Science of Deduction." Jhon answered. I looked over to Sherlock before looking at the size of the couch. I would fit well enough, I thought without any doubt.  
Sherlock's smile was proud. "What did you think?"  
John threw him a "you have got to be kidding me" type of look and Sherlock looked hurt.  
"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb." Jhon said, disbelivingly.  
I glared at him. "That is possible."  
"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone." Sherlock said simultaneously with me.  
"How?" Jhon asked. I was silent at his question. Didn't need them thinking I was a freak on the first day.  
Sherlock smiled and turned away as Mrs Hudson came out of the kitchen reading the newspaper.  
"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." Mrs. Hudson said and I looked at Sherlock, trying ot determine if he was working this case as well.  
Sherlock walked over to the window of the living room as the sound of a car pulling up outside sounded. "Four." He looked downwards as he spoke again. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."  
"A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson questioned as I quickly got to my feet.  
Sherlock turned just as Lestrade trotted up the stairs and into the living room. Lestrade was wearing a plain black dress jacket, black pants to match, and a white button up beneath the jacket along with black shoes.  
"Where?" Sherlock asked at the same time I did. I looked at him with an intrigued expression before returning my attention to the Detective Inspector.  
"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." Lestrade answered, looking at me strangely. I pretended to have been focused on something else. I should've kept quiet, I thought. I was only causing myself more harm this way.  
"did you come from?" I finished, trying to salvage my situation.  
"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different." Sherlock said.  
"You know how they never leave notes?" Lestrade asked, looking away from me and to Sherlock. I restrained myself from sighing as I stepped back, listening to the conversation.  
"Yeah." Sherlock answered.  
"This one did. Will you come?" Lestrade inquired. This just kept getting more interesting, I thought with a flash of excitement.  
"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock requested. Why would that matter? I questioned before a sound answer popped into my head. There could be someone he doesn't like, probably because the person is incredibly stupid.  
"It's Anderson." Lestrade told him.  
"Anderson won't work with me." Sherlock said, grimacing. Then I was most likely right, I figured. Though I wasn't sure if I was looking forward to meeting this Anderson guy.  
"Well, he won't be your assistant." Lestrade said a bit exasperated.  
"I need an assistant." Sherlock said to the Inspector. I could be his assisstant, I thought. Though he probably wouldn't consider it. Most people didn't consider anything when it came to me.  
"Will you come?" Lestrade repeated.  
"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind." Sherlock answered. I smiled softly, completely agreeing with his statement.  
"Thank you." Lestrade said, looking around at Jhon and Mrs. Hudson before looking at me strangely again for a moment before he turned ad hurried off down the stairs.  
Sherlock waited until the Inspector had reached the front door, then leapt into the air and clenched his fists triumphantly before twirling around the room happily. "Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!"  
Picking up his scarf and coat he started to put them on as he headed for the kitchen. "Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."  
I watched him with curious eyes and a small smile. Just another similarity, only I didn't shout it to the world. I'd learned not to do anything to attract attention. I learned how to be invisible.  
"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson replied to Sherlock.  
"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" Sherlock said, ignoring Mrs. Hudson as he grabbed a small leather puch from the kitchen table before opening the the kitchen door and disappearing from view. I frowned and sat down beside the front door again.  
Mrs. Hudson turned back to Jhon. "Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same." I shook my head at Mrs. Hudson's statement as John grimaced at her repeated implication that he and Sherlock were an item. "But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell."  
At this comment John looked uncomfortable. Though I didn't see why he would take offense to a true statement. He may like danger, but with his psychosomatic limp how would he deal with any of it?  
Mrs. Hudson turned towards the door. "I'll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg."  
"Damn my leg!" Jhon said loudly, making me jump slightly. I glared as I stood up and walked over to put my bag on the couch.  
His response was instinctive and he immediately apologised as Mrs Hudson turned back to him in shock, but I was still annoyed.  
"Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing ..." Jhon bashed his leg with his cane.  
"I understand, dear; I've got a hip." Mrs. Hudson as she turned towards the door again.  
"Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you." Jhon called. I looked at him with a disbelievingly look. He just got here and he's already treating the landlady like a housekeeper.  
"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson called.  
"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em." Jhon called back and I sighed in exasperation and sat in front of the couch.  
"Not your housekeeper!" Mrs. Hudson repeated.  
John picked up the newspaper which Mrs Hudson put down a moment ago and he started to read.  
"You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor." Sherlock's voice said and Jhon looked up as I looked back to see Sherlock. What was the point in leaving if he was just going to come back to state the obvious? Unless...  
"Yes." Jhon answered getting to his feet and turnign towards Sherlock as he came into the room again.  
"Any good?" Sherlock inquired and I stood up and leaned against the wall.  
"Very good." Jhon answered softly. Someone's rather smug, I thought.  
"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths." Sherlock stated. I closed my eyes at his words, keeping my face composed in an expressionless mask.  
"Mmm, yes." Jhon answered, no trace of regret in his voice.  
"Bit of trouble too, I bet." Sherlock again stated. I opened my eyes and looked over at the two men.  
"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much." Jhon said quietly. I thought that was obvious, considering he's in the military. Sherlock knew that as well, so what's he planning? I wondered. Well, he did say he needed an assisstant.  
"Wanna see some more?" Sherlock inquired.  
"Oh God, yes." Jhon said fervently.  
I sighed and stood up straight. "Can I come?" My voice came out with the slightest of nervousness as I wasn't used to asking things of those I lived with. I knew that Sherlock would definitely notice though Jhon probably wouldn't.  
Jhon spun around to face me. "You're like fifteen!" He protested.  
"I'm sixteen and I could probably help." I answered calmly, looking to Sherlock. "May I?"  
Sherlock nodded slightly before spinning on his heel and leading Jhon and I out of the room and down the stairs.  
John called out as he followed him down. "Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out."  
Mrs. Hudson was standing near the bottom of the stairs when she spoke. "Both of you?"  
Sherlock had almost reached the front door but now turned and walked back towards her. "Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" He took her by the shoulders and kissed her noisily on the cheek.  
"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." She said though she couldn't help but smile as he turned away and headed for the front door again. "Wait is River going with you as well?"  
"Of course." I answered, walking behind Sherlock.  
"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!" Sherlock said, walking out onto the street and hailed an approaching black cab. "Taxi!"  
The taxi pulled up alongside and Sherlock, John, and I got in, then the car drove off again and headed for Brixton. We sat in silence for a long time while Sherlock sat with his eyes fixed on his smartphone and John kept stealing nervous glances at him. I leaned comfortably back against the seat as I waited to hear the questions Jhon most definitely had.  
Finally Sherlock lowered his phone. "Okay, you've got questions."  
"Yeah, where are we going?" Jhon asked. I looked at him strangely. Couldn't he at least figure that one out?  
"Crime scene. Next?" Sherlock answered.  
"Who are you? What do you do?" Jhon asked. Well, that's a decent question at least though he could probably figure it out on his own.  
"What do you think?"Sherlock questioned.  
"I'd say private detective ..." Jhon said slowly and hesitantly.  
"But?" Sherlock prompted.  
"... but the police don't go to private detectives." Jhon finished.  
"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." Sherlock told him. So he helps the police on a regular basis, then.  
"What does that mean?" Jhon asked. I rolled my eyes at him. Was he always going to be like this?  
"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." Sherlock explained. Totally agreed with him there.  
"The police don't consult amateurs." Jhon said.  
Sherlock threw him a look and I glared at him with disbelief. In what world was Sherlock an amateur? Did he pay attention to anythind?  
"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised." Sherlock started.  
"Yes, how did you know?" Jhon inquired, looking to Sherlock.  
"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." Sherlock loudly clicked the 'k' sound at the end of the final word.  
"You said I had a therapist." Jhon stated.  
"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother." Sherlock said. I stayed quiet and listened to the conversation. This was the first I was hearing about a brother.  
"Hmm?" Jhon questioned, obviously confused.  
"Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then." Sherlock said holding his hand out. Jhon handed him the phone and Sherlock turned it over and looked at it again while he spoke. I leaned over to look as well there were scratches on it. Keys and coins, I thought. And the engraving.  
Harry Watson  
From Clara  
xxx  
"Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already." Sherlock said, pausing.  
"The engraving." Jhon concluded.  
"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking." Sherlock continued with his deduction of Jhon. I knew he was like me, maybe even better or at least tied.  
"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" Jhon demanded.  
Sherlock smiled. "Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them." He handed the phone back to Jhon. "There you go, you see – you were right."  
"I was right? Right about what?" Jhon asked, stupified.  
"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock explained. I looked over at him as he looked out of the side window, biting his lip nervously as he waited for Jhon's reaction.  
"That ... was amazing." Jhon said after a moment of silence, causing me to look over. That wasn't usually what people thought and he didn't even know about me.  
Sherlock looked round, apparently so surprised that he couldn't even reply for the next four seconds. Just another similarity. "Do you think so?"  
"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." Jhon answered, amazement in his voice. I blinked in shock.  
"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock replied as I looked out my window.  
"What do people normally say?" Jhon inquired. I shook my head. He really thought that Sherlock's talent was impressive? Would he think the same if he found out about mine?  
"'Piss off'!" Sherlock smiled at Jhon who grinned a bit before looking out the window that I was looking out of. I closed my eyes as I debated over the concept. I shook my head, I'd tried that before and lived to regret it. I brushed away a tear that fell, pretending to brush some of my hair out of my face.  
"So you never answered my question earlier." Jhon stated, obviously talking to me.  
I sighed and looked around to face him after I was sure that there were no more tears. "About my family?" I checked. Jhon nodded. "Never had one really."  
Jhon frowned. "Did something happen to them?"  
"I'm not going to tell you my whole life story until I know I can trust you completely." I replied. "But I can tell you that I have no idea where my real parents are or who they are and any imitation of a family I had was a lie."  
When I finished talking I turned to look out the window again.  
"So, you're an orphan?" Jhon asked.  
I sighed. "Yes, that is what I am."  
"And you never went to a foster home?" He inquired.  
I turned to look at him again and noticed that Serlock was now watching us. "Would you rather I did?"  
Jhon frowned. "I'm not saying you should leave. I was just curious. It seems like it would have been logical for you."  
"Logical to go live somewhere where people pretend to love you so they can get paid?" I questioned with disbelief. "I wouldn't have survived because they would have put me with the worst possible people because I was too strange and it was just better that way. I did that once, don't care to do it again." I turned back to looking out the window and waited to see if Jhon was going to ask anymore questions. I sighed softly when he didn't say anything. Great, I thought. You just had to mention how different and worthless you are. And of course he would accept everyone else, except for you.


	3. Chapter 3

When the cab arrived at Lauriston Gardens Sherlock, Jhon, and I got out of the cab and walked towards the police tape strung out across the road. The scene had a bunch of police officers running around and a few police cars parked. Nothing that interesting on the outside.  
"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked Jhon as we walked. I looked straight ahead as I started shutting down my emotions so I could focus on the job at hand.  
"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker." Jhon replied to Sherlock.  
"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything." Sherlock said, sounding impressed with himself. I walked a bit faster as we neared the crime scene, already surveying the area. No signs of a crime except for the police tape and police officers. The street was dirty as was to be expected with a place as abandoned as this.  
"And Harry is short for Harriet." Jhon continued after a moment.  
Sherlock stopped in his tracks. "Harry's your sister."  
I looked over at the two of them, also stopping.  
"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" Jhon aske, continuing onwards.  
I watched calmly as Sherlock spoke furiously through gritted teeth. "Sister!"  
"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" Jhon repeated.  
"There's always something/" Sherlock said, exasperated as he started to walk again.  
I fell into step with him when he got to me. "If it makes you feel any better I didn't know about the relative until you said something."  
"That's because you didn't get a close enough look at his phone until I mentioned it in the cab." Sherlock replied as we came to a stop in front of the police tape where the Seargent lady from earlier came to meet us. She was now wearing a grey jacket over a short black dress and a pair of ugly heels.  
"Hello, freak." She greeted. I instantly didn't like her though I kept my face composed as I stood by Sherlock. She wasn't exactly professional was she? Probably one of those popular girls in school that always made fun of the people who were different. Either that or her mother was. She obviously was aquainted with Sherlock as I deduced earlier and she had a late night the night previous. Her knees had slight red marks on it so she was on the floor on her knees, but there was no reason for her to be out and about for her job so conclusion was she was with a lover. Who that was I wasn'y quite sure though I didn't really care either.  
"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock stated, ignoring her earlier statement.  
"Why?" The Seargent demanded. Was she always like this? I wondered as I looked at the scene behind her. She didn't even seem to have noticed me.  
"I was invited." Sherlock responded.  
"Why?" She repeated. Did she need everything spelled out for her? I thought looking back at her with an annoyed expression.  
"I think he wants me to take a look." Sherlock replied sarcastically. I sighed in agitation as I waited to get to examining the scene, instead of standing in the cold. I rubbed my arms as I had forgotten my jacket as I had replaced it with a dark red overshirt - that was thin though it was longsleeved - before I went to bed the night before.  
"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" The woman asked Sherlock.  
Sherlock lifted the tape and ducked underneath it. "Always, Sally." He took a breath through his nose as he passed her. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."  
I frowned slightly and smelled the air subtly, wondering what was significant to him about how she smelled.  
"I don't..." Sally trailed off and looked at Jhon and I. "Who're they?"  
"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson." Sherlock said before turning to Jhon. "Doctor Watson, Sally Donovan. Old friend." His voice dripped with sarcasm on the last two words.  
"Colleague? How do you get a colleague?!" Sally demanded before turning to Jhon. "Did he follow you home?"  
"Would it be better if I just waited and..." Jhon started.  
Sherlock interrupted, lifting the tape for him. "No."  
Sally looked at me. "And what about the girl? She your prostitute? You into fifteen year olds?"  
I suppressed a glare as I looked at Sally. "I'm sixteen. And you obviously need to get your eyes checked because this.." I motioned to my outfit. "..is not something a prostitute would wear."  
Sherlock waited till I was done talking before he jumped in. "She'll be helping me with examining the crime scene. I've spoken to Lestrade about it."  
As Jhon and I ducked under the tape, Sally spoke into her radio. " Freak's here. Bringing him in."  
She lead us up to the house and I watched as Sherlock looked around the area and at the ground as we walked. As we reached the house a man came out of the house, wearing a coverall. The front of the house was a dull, faded white. Nothing special.  
"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Sherlock said to the man. So this was Anderson. He had dark brown hair, dark brown eyes and I could see the collar of a light blue button up peeking out of the coverall.  
Anderson looked to Sherlock with distaste. "it's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"  
Sherlock took a deep breath in through his nose. "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"  
"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that." Anderson snapped. I tilted my head to the side and took a small breath through my nose. Well, I guess Donovan's not the only one who had a late night.  
"Your deodorant told me that." Sherlock replied. I looked up at Sherlock before looking at Anderson again.  
"My deodorant?" Anderson questioned, confused.  
"It's for men. " Sherlock said, simultaneously with me.  
Anderson glanced at me for a moment before speaking. "Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"  
"So's Sergeant Donovan." Sherlock said. I smiled slightly at the expression of shock on Anderson's face as he looked around at Donovan.  
Sherlock sniffed pointedly. "Ooh, and I think it just vaporised. May I go in?"  
Anderson turned back to Sherlock, pointing at him angrily. "Now look: whatever you're trying to imply..."  
"I'm not implying anything." Sherlock said as he headed past Donovan to the front door with me following. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." He said before turning back to them. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."  
Sherlock smiled smugly as Anderson and Donovan stared at him in horror before he turned and headed into the house. I smiled at the two before I turned and followed Sherlock.  
Sherlock led me and Jhon into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade was putting on some coveralls.  
Sherlock pointed to a pile of similar items. "You need to wear one of these."  
I gave him a pointed look before grabbing a pair of gloves and pulling them on before looking to Lestrade. I was not going to wear one of those stupid outfits when it was unecessary for me inside of the house was a little fancy with the chandlier and long red curtains, the staircase had an elegant looking staircase you expect to see in the movies with the fancy ballroom. The only thing that marred the elegance of the place, besides the obviousness that the place had been abandoned, was all the chemicals and equimpent the forensics team was using.  
"Who are they?" Lestrade asked, looking at Jhon and me.  
"They're with me." Sherlock replied, taking off his gloves.  
"But who are they? And should you really be showing a dead body to a little girl?" He repeated.  
"I've seen dead bodies before." I replied before going silent again.  
"I said they're with me." Sherlock repeated. I looked over at Jhon who had taken off his jacket and picked up a coverall. He stared as Sherlock picked up a pair of latex gloves as I had.  
"Aren't you guys going to put one on?" He inquired. Sherlock gave him a sten look and I gave him a look of 'are you serious?'. Jhon shook his head as if to say 'Silly me. What was I thinking?!'.  
"So where are we?" Sherlock asked Lestrade. I stood beside Sherlock as I waited for Lestrade's answer.  
"Upstairs." Lestrade said as he picked up another pair of latex gloves. As we went upstairs Sherlock put the latex gloves he had grabbed on as Lestrade continued speaking "I can give you two minutes."  
"May need longer." Sherlock said casually as we walked.  
"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her." Lestrade informed us as he led us into a room two storeys above the ground floor. The room was devoid of furniture except for a rocking horse in the far corner. Emergency lighting had been set up by the police and some scaffolding poles held up part of the ceiling where a few holes had been knocked through the wall. Jennifer Wilson's body was lying facedown on the bare floorboards in the middle of the room. She was wearing a bright pink coat that matched her pink high-heels and nailpolish and her hands were flat on the floor on either side of her blonde head.  
Sherlock walked a few steps into the room and then stopped, holding a hand out in front of him as he focused on the corpse. I walked forward so I was standing a step behind Sherlock and to the side as I also examined the body.  
After several seconds Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "Shut up."  
"I didn't say anything." Lestrade said, startled. I shook my head and returned my attention to the corpse, walking forward and crouching beside it.  
"You were thinking. It's annoying." Sherlock said and I tilted my head as I realized what he was talking about. Very true. It is annoying. Sherlock stepped forward until he was beside the corpse on the side opposite me.  
I looked at the word that had been scratched into the floorboard beside the woman's left hand. 'Rache'. I looked at her fingernails to see that the nails on her index and middle fingers were broken and ragged at the end with the nail polish was chipped. It was stark in comparison to her other nails which were still immaculate. Her index finger rested below the 'e' as if she was still trying to carve into the floor when she died. She was left - handed. I looked back at the word carved into the floor and thought about what it could mean. The immediate suggestion was that it was German. Rache in German meant revenge. I narrowed my eyes as I quickly dismissed the suggestion. It didn't feel right. I foused on the word and quickly began seeeing what else she could have been trying to spell. I tilted my head to the side as the spelling became Rachel. That seemed a bit more likely.  
My attention turned to Sherlock for a moment as he squatted down beside her body and ran his gloved hand along the back of her coat before lifting his hand and looking at his fingers. They were wet. So she was in the rain, except it wasn't raining last night, so she came from somewhere else. Sherlock reached into her coat pockets and found a white fold up umbrella in one of them. Running his fingers along the folds of the material, he inspected his gloved fingers again. The umbrella was dry. So she didn't use ? A woman like her wouldn't want to get her hair all wet. Everything about her appearance had to be perfect.  
Sherlock put the umbrella back into her pocket and ran his fingers underneath the collar of her coat before once again looking at his fingers. Wet. I watched as he pulled a small magnifier out of his pocket, clicked it open before inspecting the delicate gold bracelet on her left wrist, making sure I could see the results as well after I moved out of his way so he could get a better angle. It was clean. When I nodded at him he moved to the gold earring she was wearing on her left ear. It was also clean. Upon my nod, moved the magnifier to examine the gold chain around her neck. Clean. I nodded again and he moved it so we could examine the rings on her left ring finger. The wedding ring and engagement ring were dirty. So she was married and aparently not happily. And for ten years.  
Carefully Sherlock worked the wedding ring off her finger and held it up to look at the inside of the ring. The inside of the ring was clean. As Sherlock lowered the ring and slid it back onto the woman's finger, I had already reached the conclusion that it was regularly removed as I was sure he had as well. I stood up, reaching my final deduction of the woman. She was a serial adulterer. I saw Sherlock smile slightly in satisfaction.  
"Got anything?" Lestrade asked.  
"Not much." Sherlock said nonchalantly as he stood, taking his loves off and pulling out his mobile phone, beginning to type on it.  
"She's German." Anderson said form where he was casually leaning against the doorframe. "Rache: it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something..."  
As Anderson spoke Sherlock walked quickly over to the door and proceeded to start closing it in Anderson's face. "Yes, thank you for your input." He said sarcastically. He slammed the door shut and walked back into the room, standing beside me and showing me what he was looking up on his phone. He had a menu called "UK Weather". The menu offered the options of Maps, Local, Warnings, Next 24 hours, and 7 day forecast. He selected the Maps option.  
"So, she's German?" Lestrade questioned. I kept my attention on Sherlock's phone.  
Sherlock seemed to have the same idea as me. "Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night..." He smiled smugly as he found the information he was looking for that just supported our theory. "...before returning home to Cardiff." He pocketed his phone and I looked up as Sherlock continued. "So far, so obvious."  
"Sorry - obvious?" Jhon asked. I shook my head at him. Yes, it was obvious, I thought.  
"What about the message, though?" Lestrade inquired.  
Sherlock ignored Lestrade and turned to Jhon. "Doctor Watson, what do you think?"  
"Of the message?" Jhon questioned. I sighed and looked at the floor before looking back up at him. Well, I suppose he's not as stupid as several other people.  
"Of the body. You're a medical man." Sherlock clarified for him.  
"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside." Lestrade protested, turning towards the door.  
"They won't work with me." Sherlock replied. Yes, with their hostility thus far, I didn't blame him for not trusting them. he would wind up having to do everything all over again so he knew they weren't lying to him about anything for a laugh.  
"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here." Lestrade snapped.  
"Yes...because you need me." Sherlock reminded him.  
Lestrade stared at him for a moment, then lowered his eyes helplessly. "Yes, I do. God help me."  
Sherlock turned to Jhon. "Doctor Watson."  
"Hm?" Jhon said, looking up from the body to Sherlock before looking to Lestrade, asking for permission.  
"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." Lestrade said snappily before turning, opening the door and going outside. I watched him leave before returning my attention to Sherlock and Jhon.  
Sherlock, Jhon, and I walked over to the body. Sherlock squatted down beside it on the right side and I knelt down near the woman's head while Jhon painfully lowered himself to one knee on the left side of the corpse, using his cane to help support him.  
"Well?" Sherlock asked.  
"What am I doing here?" Jhon asked softly. I looked over at Sherlock. I'd been wondering that myself. It didn't make sense to ask Jhon to come with him when I was just as intellectual as him and yet he asked Jhon to assisst him.  
"Helping me make a point." Sherlock answered in the same tone. Oh, I realized. Smart.  
"I'm supposed to be helping you pay rent." Jhon protested, still in whipsered tones.  
"Yeah, well, this is more fun." Sherlock said in response. Agreed.  
"Fun? There's a woman lying dead." Jhon scolded.  
"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." Sherlock said, as Lestrade came back into the room and just stood in the doorway.  
Jhon lowered his other leg so he was in a kneeling position before he leaned forward to look more closely at the corpse. He put his head closer to hers, sniffed, then straightened up a little before lifting her right had and looking at the skin. He sat up and looked across to Sherlock. "Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."  
"You know what it was. You've read the papers." Sherlock told him. I barely heard him as I felt my eyes drawn to the woman's face. She looked so much like Her. I could barely focus on anything anymore as memories filled my eyes.  
I was jerked out of my thoughts when Jhon bumped me as he was getting up. Sherlock was already on his feet and Lestrade was looking at us with a bit of anger in his features.  
"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase." Sherlock told Lestrade. I nodded and got to my feet, quickly as Lestrade stared at me strangely.  
"Suitcase?" Lestrade wondered.  
Sherlock sighed and looked to me. "I think River might be able to fill in the blanks for what I missed."  
I looked at Sherlock, confused for a moment since he had seen everything I had and then I realized he was testing me to see if I was really the same as him. I nodded and turned to Lestrade and Jhon. "Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."  
"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up ..." Lestrade started.  
I interrupted him, pointing at the woman's left hand. "Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? "  
Sherlock took over from there. "Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."  
"That's brilliant." Jhon said, admiringly. Was he talking about both of us or just Sherlock? I wondered, looking at him as Sherlock did. "Sorry." Jhon said afterward apoligetically.  
"Cardiff?" Lestrade wondered.  
"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock said, a bit of excitement in his voice.  
"It's not obvious to me." Jhon said softly.  
Sherlock paused and looked at the other two. "Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." He turned back to the body. "Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. "  
"We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. " I added as I brushed my hair out of my face.  
"So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" Sherlock got his phone out and showed to the other two the website we were looking at earlier, displaying today's weather report for the southern part of Britain. "Cardiff."  
"That's fantastic!" Jhon exclaimed.  
Sherlock turned to him, speaking in a low voice that I only heard because I was right beside him. "D'you know you do that out loud?"  
"Sorry. I'll shut up." Jhon said in a low voice as well.  
"No, it's...fine." Sherlock said softly. I frowned and turned away when I realized that Jhon was most likely just talking about Sherlock. I doubt he even noticed what I had to say. But then again, who would? I should just be grateful I hadn't been beat for showing off like that.  
"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked and I turned to him.  
" Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is." Sherlock said, spinning around in a circle to look around the room.  
"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade inquired. I rolled my eyes and moved to stand by the door.  
"No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?" Sherlock said sarcastically.  
"How d'you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade questioned. I watched him for a moment. Was he implying that Sherlock was the killer? "And is that girl like you?"  
Sherlock pointed to the body, where her tights had small black splotches on the back of her right leg. " Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night."  
He squatted down beside the woman's body to get a closer look at the back of her legs, ignoring the second question of Lestrade's. "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"  
"There wasn't a case." Lestrade said. I looked over at him, startled. Then that means...  
Slowly Sherlock raised his head and frowned up at Lestrade. "Say that again."  
"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." Lestrade repeated. That can't be right, I thought.  
Immediately Sherlock straightened up and headed for the door, calling out to all the police officers in the house as he began to hurry down the stairs. "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"  
Lestrade and Jhon followed him and after a moment of being by myself in silence I followed after, but instead of stopping on the landing I went down the stairs towards where Sherlock was standing. Lestrade called down the stairs. " Sherlock, there was no case!"  
Sherlock slowed down though he was still making his way down the stairs. "But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them."  
"Right, yeah, thanks! And ...?" Lestrade called down. I rolled my eyes as I caught up to Sherlock. Wasn't it obvious?  
"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings." Sherlock held his hands up in front of his face in delight. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."  
"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade called. I sighed and looked up at Lestrade.  
Sherlock stopped and called up to the others. "Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case. " His voice lowered, as if he were talking to himself. "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."  
"Right." I replied, trying to help him out.  
"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." Jhon suggested. Not too bad, I thought. It's still wrong, but not bad.  
Sherlock looked back up at the others. "No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ..." He stopped talking as he realized the same thing as I did. "Oh." His eyes widened and his face lit up. "Oh!" He clapped his hands in delight.  
"Sherlock?" Jhon called.  
"What is it, what?" Lestrade called, leaning over the railing.  
"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." Sherlock said smiling cheerfully to himself.  
"We can't just wait!" Lestrade yelled. I shook my head as a smile creeped onto my face.  
"Oh, we're done waiting!" Sherlock called up as we started down the stairs again. "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" We reached the bottom of the stairs.  
"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!" Lestrade called.  
Sherlock and I turned back and ran up a few steps so we could be seen before calling up to him. "PINK! " After that we hurried off again.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey. If you guys come up with something you'd like to see in this fanfiction, feel free to post suggestions and I will try to get them in. Just no Jhonlocks, please. That's not the type of things I write.


	5. Chapter 5

After we had left the crime scene and were out of sight of the police, Sherlock turned to me. "You froze up for a moment back there. Why?"

I looked up at him as we walked. "I just got lost in thought." I said, making sure my voice was completely sincere. I knew he'd see through the lie but I also knew he would know it meant I didn't want to talk about it and was hoping he'd leave it be. "Now, you said you had questions."

"Shall I start by telling you what I already know?" He inquired before he hailed a passing cab. "Taxi!"

I was silent for a moment before I nodded as the cab pulled up beside us. I climbed in as Sherlock held the door open for me, sliding over to the window. "Be my guest."

Sherlock slid in beside me and closed the door. As the cab started moving, he began telling speaking. "Let's start with the simple things. You're curious. Curious enough that you were willing to talk to me about staying with me and Jhon at the flat though you're generally scared of men, probably because of the family you spoke about earlier. You quite clearly said you lived in a foster home where you were abused. Obviously by a male.

You try to be invisible but at the same time find yourself wanting to correct every wrong comment because you can't stand the way no one seems to notice the obvious. That's why you're helping with this case. Scotland Yard was getting it all wrong so you decided to step in and once you did that it was inevitable that you would meet me. You were also the one who was tracking the text I sent. You're nervous when you ask questions though you've learned how to hide it. For the most part. You don't trust people easily. Even when you can see that they don't mean you any harm and don't have any intentions of decieving you. Yet you don't seem to hold that much, if any, mistrust towards me. My first question is: Why have you placed your trust in me so quickly? I assume it's partly because I am similar to you in intellect. You probably haven't found anyone that wasn't oblivious. My second question is: What were you doing at Bart's Lab yesterday?"

I stared at him with a blank expression for a moment. "You're right. On everything. I don't know why I trust you so much, but the reasons you suggested are part of it, though not all of it. And I was examining the bodies of the four people who committed suicide yesterday. It was a dead end."

Sherlock looked at me for a moment. "I didn't expect to get everything right. And yet you expected that I would."

I nodded. "You seemed either more clever than I am or you were at least tied with my intellect. I figured there wouldn't be anything I could hide from you. Just like there's nothing or little that you can hide from me." I murmured, looking out the window with my last words. "I don't think we need to get into your past at the moment though."

"No, we don't." Sherlock said as we pulled up to Baker Street. "This is your stop."

"Why are you leaving me here?" I questioned, turning to him. "i won't slow you down. You know that."

"Yes, I do, but I need you to get to work on piecing things together while I find the suitcase." Sherlock answered, turning to look out the window. "I should be back within the hour."

I nodded and opened the cab door, stepping out into the cool air before turning back to Sherlock. "Thank you." With that said I closed the cab door and turned to go back up to the flat. I made sure to be quiet in case Mrs. Hudson were sleeping and was soon in the flat. I sighed and sat down on the floor by my bag again, pulling my phone out and pulling up all the information that the police had found by hacking into their computers.

When I finished going through the relevant information I hadn't come to any different conclusion than I had earlier. Had to wait for Sherlock to come back with the case. Which he should be back shortly, I thought as I realized I had been at this for almost half an hour.

I looked over at the door as Sherlock came in with the case and set it down on the coffee table, opening it and rifling through the contents. I stood and pocketed my phone, going over to look with him. "Her phone's missing." I murmured. She must have left it in the car, the killer was driving so the killer had her phone. That was tremendously helpful, I thought looking up at Sherlock as he cleared the couch and layed down, putting three nicotine patches on his arm before texting someone, probably Jhon who had yet to show up here.

I sat down beside the couch and pulled out a sketchbook and some pencils as Sherlock waited for a reply before sending another text when Jhon was too long in answering. I opened the book to a blank page and began sketching the outline of a cemetery with stone angels scattered around it. I let myself get lost in drawing the shapes of the tombstones, the feathers of the wings that looked almost lifelike but were still obviously stone if you looked close enough. A wrought iron gate about twelve feet high with an intricate design on the front. The gates were open and were looking down on the cemetery. From there my hand seemed to take control rather than my mind. It drew the shadows of the angels as frightening creatures. Blood seemed to flow through the maze of headstones and the shadows seemed to come to life, turning the peaceful picture I had meant to draw into one of horror as most of the pictures I tried to draw became. I sighed and set the pencil down as Jhon came in.

"What are you doing?" Jhon asked, referring to Sherlock.

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think." Sherlock replied calmly. I closed the sketchbook and put my stuff away in my bag, zipping it up before I turned to Jhon. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work." He loudly clicked the 'k' in work.

"It's good news for breathing." Jhon said, coming further into the room.

"Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring." Sherlock said, dismissively.

"Actually, it isn't because you don't have to think about it." I said from my spot on the floor.

They ignored me for the most part. John frowned as he looked more closely at Sherlock's arm. "Is that three patches?"

I looked up to see Sherlock press his hands together in the prayer position under his chin. "It's a three-patch problem."

He closed his eyes.

John looked around the room for a moment, then looked down at Sherlock again. "Well?" Sherlock didn't respond so Jhon continued. "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important."

Sherlock still wasn't responding, but after a couple of seconds his eyes snapped open. He didn't bother turning his head to look at Jhon. "Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?" Jhon inquired with surprise. I leaned back against the couch.

"Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website." Sherlock answered.

"Mrs. Hudson's got a phone." Jhon pointed out.

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting, but she didn't hear." Sherlock replied.


	6. Chapter 6

After we had left the crime scene and were out of sight of the police, Sherlock turned to me. "You froze up for a moment back there. Why?"  
I looked up at him as we walked. "I just got lost in thought." I said, making sure my voice was completely sincere. I knew he'd see through the lie but I also knew he would know it meant I didn't want to talk about it and was hoping he'd leave it be. "Now, you said you had questions."  
"Shall I start by telling you what I already know?" He inquired before he hailed a passing cab. "Taxi!"  
I was silent for a moment before I nodded as the cab pulled up beside us. I climbed in as Sherlock held the door open for me, sliding over to the window. "Be my guest."  
Sherlock slid in beside me and closed the door. As the cab started moving, he began telling speaking. "Let's start with the simple things. You're curious. Curious enough that you were willing to talk to me about staying with me and Jhon at the flat though you're generally scared of men, probably because of the family you spoke about earlier. You quite clearly said you lived in a foster home where you were abused. Obviously by a male.  
You try to be invisible but at the same time find yourself wanting to correct every wrong comment because you can't stand the way no one seems to notice the obvious. That's why you're helping with this case. Scotland Yard was getting it all wrong so you decided to step in and once you did that it was inevitable that you would meet me. You were also the one who was tracking the text I sent. You're nervous when you ask questions though you've learned how to hide it. For the most part. You don't trust people easily. Even when you can see that they don't mean you any harm and don't have any intentions of decieving you. Yet you don't seem to hold that much, if any, mistrust towards me. My first question is: Why have you placed your trust in me so quickly? I assume it's partly because I am similar to you in intellect. You probably haven't found anyone that wasn't oblivious. My second question is: What were you doing at Bart's Lab yesterday?"  
I stared at him with a blank expression for a moment. "You're right. On everything. I don't know why I trust you so much, but the reasons you suggested are part of it, though not all of it. And I was examining the bodies of the four people who committed suicide yesterday. It was a dead end."  
Sherlock looked at me for a moment. "I didn't expect to get everything right. And yet you expected that I would."  
I nodded. "You seemed either more clever than I am or you were at least tied with my intellect. I figured there wouldn't be anything I could hide from you. Just like there's nothing or little that you can hide from me." I murmured, looking out the window with my last words. "I don't think we need to get into your past at the moment though."  
"No, we don't." Sherlock said as we pulled up to Baker Street. "This is your stop."  
"Why are you leaving me here?" I questioned, turning to him. "i won't slow you down. You know that."  
"Yes, I do, but I need you to get to work on piecing things together while I find the suitcase." Sherlock answered, turning to look out the window. "I should be back within the hour."  
I nodded and opened the cab door, stepping out into the cool air before turning back to Sherlock. "Thank you." With that said I closed the cab door and turned to go back up to the flat. I made sure to be quiet in case Mrs. Hudson were sleeping and was soon in the flat. I sighed and sat down on the floor by my bag again, pulling my phone out and pulling up all the information that the police had found by hacking into their computers.  
When I finished going through the relevant information I hadn't come to any different conclusion than I had earlier. Had to wait for Sherlock to come back with the case. Which he should be back shortly, I thought as I realized I had been at this for almost half an hour.  
I looked over at the door as Sherlock came in with the case and set it down on the coffee table, opening it and rifling through the contents. I stood and pocketed my phone, going over to look with him. "Her phone's missing." I murmured. She must have left it in the car, the killer was driving so the killer had her phone. That was tremendously helpful, I thought looking up at Sherlock as he cleared the couch and layed down, putting three nicotine patches on his arm before texting someone, probably Jhon who had yet to show up here.  
I sat down beside the couch and pulled out a sketchbook and some pencils as Sherlock waited for a reply before sending another text when Jhon was too long in answering. I opened the book to a blank page and began sketching the outline of a cemetery with stone angels scattered around it. I let myself get lost in drawing the shapes of the tombstones, the feathers of the wings that looked almost lifelike but were still obviously stone if you looked close enough. A wrought iron gate about twelve feet high with an intricate design on the front. The gates were open and were looking down on the cemetery. From there my hand seemed to take control rather than my mind. It drew the shadows of the angels as frightening creatures. Blood seemed to flow through the maze of headstones and the shadows seemed to come to life, turning the peaceful picture I had meant to draw into one of horror as most of the pictures I tried to draw became.


	7. Chapter 7

After we had left the crime scene and were out of sight of the police, Sherlock turned to me. "You froze up for a moment back there. Why?" I looked up at him as we walked. "I just got lost in thought." I said, making sure my voice was completely sincere. I knew he'd see through the lie but I also knew he would know it meant I didn't want to talk about it and was hoping he'd leave it be. "Now, you said you had questions." "Shall I start by telling you what I already know?" He inquired before he hailed a passing cab. "Taxi!" I was silent for a moment before I nodded as the cab pulled up beside us. I climbed in as Sherlock held the door open for me, sliding over to the window. "Be my guest." Sherlock slid in beside me and closed the door. As the cab started moving, he began telling speaking. "Let's start with the simple things. You're curious. Curious enough that you were willing to talk to me about staying with me and Jhon at the flat though you're generally scared of men, probably because of the family you spoke about earlier. You quite clearly said you lived in a foster home where you were abused. Obviously by a male. You try to be invisible but at the same time find yourself wanting to correct every wrong comment because you can't stand the way no one seems to notice the obvious. That's why you're helping with this case. Scotland Yard was getting it all wrong so you decided to step in and once you did it was inevitable that you would meet me. You were also the one who was tracking the text I sent. You're nervous when you ask questions though you've learned how to hide it. For the most part. You don't trust people easily. Even when you can see that they don't mean you any harm and don't have any intentions of decieving you. Yet you don't seem to hold that much, if any, mistrust towards me. My first question is: Why have you placed your trust in me so quickly? I assume it's partly because I am similar to you in intellect. You probably haven't found anyone that wasn't oblivious. My second question is: What were you doing at Bart's Lab yesterday?" I stared at him with a blank expression for a moment. "You're right. On everything. I don't know why I trust you so much, but the reasons you suggested are part of it, though not all of it. And I was examining the bodies of the four people who committed suicide yesterday. It was a dead end." Sherlock looked at me for a moment. "I didn't expect to get everything right. And yet you expected that I would." I nodded. "You seemed either more clever than I am or you were at least tied with my intellect. I figured there wouldn't be anything I could hide from you. Just like there's nothing or little that you can hide from me." I murmured, looking out the window with my last words. "I don't think we need to get into your past at the moment though." "No, we don't." Sherlock said as we pulled up to Baker Street. "This is your stop." "Why are you leaving me here?" I questioned, turning to him. "I won't slow you down. You know that." "Yes, I do, but I need you to get to work on piecing things together while I find the suitcase." Sherlock answered, turning to look out the window. "I should be back within the hour." I nodded and opened the cab door, stepping out into the cool air before turning back to Sherlock. "Thank you." With that said I closed the cab door and turned to go back up to the flat. I made sure to be quiet in case Mrs. Hudson were sleeping and was soon in the living room of my new temporary home. I sighed and sat down on the floor by my bag again, pulling my phone out and pulling up all the information that the police had found by hacking into their computers. When I finished going through the relevant information, I hadn't come to any different conclusion than I had earlier. Had to wait for Sherlock to come back with the case. Which he should be back shortly, I thought as I realized I had been at this for almost half an hour. I looked over at the door as Sherlock came in with the case and set it down on the coffee table, opening it and rifling through the contents. I stood and pocketed my phone, going over to look with him. "Her phone's missing." I murmured. She must have left it in the car, the killer was driving so the killer had her phone. That was tremendously helpful, I thought looking up at Sherlock as he cleared the couch and layed down, putting three nicotine patches on his arm before texting someone, probably Jhon who had yet to show up here. I sat down beside the couch and pulled out a sketchbook and some pencils as Sherlock waited for a reply before sending another text when Jhon was too long in answering. I opened the book to a blank page and began sketching the outline of a cemetery with stone angels scattered around it. I let myself get lost in drawing the shapes of the tombstones, the feathers of the wings that looked almost lifelike but were still obviously stone if you looked close enough. A wrought iron gate about twelve feet high with an intricate design on the front. The gates were open and were looking down on the cemetery. From there my hand seemed to take control rather than my mind. It drew the shadows of the angels as frightening creatures. Blood seemed to flow through the maze of headstones and the shadows seemed to come to life, turning the peaceful picture I had meant to draw into one of horror as most of the pictures I tried to draw became. I leaned my head against the couch and closed my eyes. Soon I was dreaming. (Sorry that this chapter is so short and such a lame ending. I didn't really want to write the next part and it would be difficult to explain why, but please forgive me. And I will try to make the next chapter longer and better, but I'm not sure when I'll post.) 


End file.
